Café do Brasil

My final month in Paris (back in 2010!) was spent primarily in the company of a few very fine Brazilian friends in an apartment in the Marais. I'd wake to the bright metallic blue skies of the Parisian summer, slip on a pair of socks, and pack out the grounds of what to me at the time was pure gold into the Italian espresso maker in the kitchen. I'd set the metal device on the stovetop and glance over at it every once in awhile until it began to sputter and bubble. I would then place the espresso maker to the side at what I arbitrarily deemed to be the "right moment" and pour the contents haphazardly into a mis-matched cup from the set that came with the apartment. At that point, I would clutch the cup dreamily to my chest as I imagined what pastry I would purchase that morning.

The golden substance in question was none other than coffee that my friend had carried with her all the way from Brazil. I loved the deep flavor and rich body of the coffee, and the fact that the caffeine content didn't knock me to the floor. When I returned to the states, my friend spooned a good deal of the grounds into a disposable bag and tucked it away in my backpack for good measure.

 On a professional and academic level, my image of Brazilian coffee production has always been of large-scale fields of identical trees with merciless mechanical harvesting equipment scouring overhead. I have yet to visit a farm (although I've passed them on many a bus ride) but I do realize that the diversity of production here is far greater than I had ever imagined prior. As I love the taste of the coffee here, I have since decided to fully embrace the substance for its flavor and absolute necessary place in Brazilian culture.

It seems that even within the span of the last few years coffee culture has ballooned into an industry of cool. The latest single-farm, small batch-roasted varieties line the shelves of hip cafés safely within the confines of their recycled paper packages. The shiny metallic and glass-framed apparatuses designed to reap the best flavor profile out of such coffees stand by, effortlessly gleaming in the streamy café window sunlight.

And there I am... in awe of it all, trying my hardest not to succumb to the trend, but fully immersed in the very culture of the whole thing. For when I have a really good cup of coffee, I fall hard.

 That brings me to São Paulo, a city full of untapped treasures to both the shrewd traveler and the untrained eye. My dear friend Elle and I have been trouncing about discovering the best places to grab a cup of this luxurious joe. Two of which I'd like to highlight below:

1. Santo Grão

Although it boasts many locations, the one which I prefer the most is in the chic Jardims district of the city. We discovered it on a lazy friday spent sipping happily at a french press while reading the paper.  This particular location is reminiscent of a French café, with tiny circular tables, wicker chairs, and a nice breeze magically flowing around the tables. It's worth a visit to taste the hand-selected cafés from Minas Gerais and read the paper with an excellent cappucino at your side.

Santo Grão   
Rua Oscar Freire, 413  
Jardins - São Paulo SP
http://www.santograo.com.br/ 

2. Coffee Lab



Coffee Lab reminded me of a treehouse dedicated to coffee preparation, with a nonchalant atmosphere and an unpretentious staff happy to demonstrate how they roast and prepare coffee for customers. They also offer free classes to those wanting to increase their knowledge about Brazilian coffee!  This photo is courtesy of the wonderful Elle :)

Coffee Lab

Rua Fradique Coutinho, 1340

Vila Madalena - São Paulo/SP

http://raposeiras.com.br/

Inspiration struck

Until quite recently, kale was only familiar to me as a decorative vegetable, sheltering the lines of slice-able meats and sausages at the deli counter which I was to meticulously stock for work.

Yet today, kale proved to be an insightful muse, balancing the bright parsley, thinly sliced fennel, and sweet carrots in a metal bowl that I unceremoniously clanged against the counter and filled to the brim with this tough yet nutrient-laden vegetable of a purple hue.

It's delicious, filled with texture, versatile, and so packed with so many good things that you'll feel more satisfied than you would if you had eaten a giant steak. Try it!

I find myself listening more these days to the sounds that a day emits between the various stopping points that we have collectively established (breakfast, lunch, and dinner of course :)) There's a music behind the hum of the public transit systems, sputtering car engines, playful shouts of children, seemingly all-knowing caw's of the birds. There's also a beauty in those brief moments of silence where columns of noise seem to stop vibrating and stand still. It is in these moments that I realize that despite the fact that there are billions of people teeming on this earth, sometimes nobody has anything to say. And that's quite alright with me.

Anyway, onwards to the kale!

Summer Kale Salad

Consider this a base, and add anything from pumpin seeds to avocado

One bunch kale

One fresh fennel bulb

2 carrots

handful of parsley, chopped

2 green onions (*optional)

juice of one lemon

1 teaspoon agave nectar syrup

salt and pepper to taste

Wash the fennel and slice against the grain into thin pieces, add to a large salad bowl.

Rinse the kale in a colander and let sit for two minutes (so that any dirt falls to the bottom). Dry the kale and either chop or tear into small-ish strips, add to the bowl.

Wash and slice the green onions and carrots, add to the bowl.

Squeeze the lemon on the mixture, adding the agave nectar syrup, salt, and pepper to taste.

Toss and enjoy!

Guest Post by Jordan: The Fifty Dollar Chopped Salad

I think I've told you before, but my twin brother Jordan is an incredibly talented character. He's an amazing source of humor and inspiration for me, even when whole oceans or endless stretches of land seem to surface between us. So here he is with a tale of the family, and of a particularly special salad...

Some iteration of this sentence has surely appeared in the stream of consciousness below: There are two things that my family likes to do--play tennis and eat really good food. Neither my twin sister nor I had the attention span to endure anything beyond the youth tennis camps our mother so happily forced us to partake in; however, we both did come to love eating, and what better setting to do so in than at the all too frequent five-o-clock dinners our family has whenever we're both home. Then we were naive children who were unaware of our future as gourmets. Now we are mistakably pretentious (or as we prefer to say, passionate) about really good food. What facilitated the transition were the dinners we had with our family that exposed depth and intricacies of food. I might add that our family loves to characterize the behaviors of each of its members--so naturally, everything from Uncle Terry's classic ice-down-the-back to our Mom's erratic photo-shoots (look at our fridge the next time you make it to the Orinda house) sends our twin-telepathic hilarity into overdrive. Yet, the end product of these lovely gatherings is always the same: a massive feast and a great deal of laughter.

Living on my own and supporting myself the past few months has afforded several great life lessons. Always take the subway ten minutes before you have to, because if you don't the train will probably break down and you'll be late to work. Don't borrow your best friend and roommate's car while he's studying abroad in Germany if you're probably going to rear-end another car and end up with a big bill to pay. And, if you get invited to a potluck with your coworkers make something that they will remember. Well, when I was invited to attend my lab's cookout it wasn't difficult for me to decide on an unforgettable dish.

The heat of a Boston summer is unforgiving and oppressive. The humidity weighs you down so much that you'll avoid eating anything that you might feel sitting in your stomach afterwards at all costs. So what better to bring to a cook out than a colorful chop salad. In fact, the chop salad I had in mind was the one that my Uncle Terry typically prepared for our summer dinners. He was flattered to give away the recipe because, as he said, "Nobody asks for my recipes"! Well, a $50 trip to whole foods (who knew cucumbers were so damn expensive!?) and a few hours of chopping later I had a wonderful salad. So blow off some steam from your long commute home from work where you're the only non member of the army of mesmerized blackberry and iphone users. Look at the recipe below and write it down. Go buy the ingredients and don't open your computer until after you've enjoyed this wonderful salad. We all need a break from our overly connected lives, better to do it eating a great meal!

Uncle Terry's Chopped Salad

2 avocados
6 tomatoes
5 small cucumbers
6 green onions
2 bed bell pepper
4 radishes
Parsley
Salt and Pepper to Taste

Optional: Bacon

Chop the ingredients into small cubes and garnish with a Balsamic Vinaigrette. The final tossed salad should be colorful, textural, and tasty.

How to Wash and Store Salad Greens

There are two things that are guaranteed to be in my mother's kitchen at this time of year : a bowl of kiwis and a zip-lock bag of washed, dried, and properly-stored lettuce.

The bowl of kiwis merits its own post, but essentially it's never empty and never, ever full of rotten fruit. My mom eats those little furry fruits everyday, standing over the sink unabashedly as she does it. She slices them with a paring knife, allowing the extra juices to fall freely.

The salad greens are her pride and joy. I was barred from washing and drying greens until I was deemed "responsible" enough to do so correctly (it took twenty years, folks!) Proper salad care takes a bit of patience, but it can be quite the nurturing exercise, and it pays off in the end with beautiful, delicious salads! So I thought I'd share the process with you, especially since I want to encourage you to make as many salads as possible this summer :)

To begin, lettuce is grown in very sandy, wet environments. An incomplete washing will leave unexpected gritty bites in an otherwise delicious salad. Furthermore, the greens won't hold salad dressing unless they're completely dry! So not only is a good rinse necessary, but also a thorough drying session.

So here's the step by step process:

1) Pull that beautiful head of lettuce out of your grocery bag and check the outside for spotted, or otherwise too-tough leaves. Discard those reject leaves. Don't feel guilty! Place the remaining head of lettuce in a colander.

2) Place the colander under cold, running water. It has to be cold, not even lukewarm, as the salad greens hold their shape better under a cold rinse! Peel away the layers of leaves, holding each new leaf under the water for a few seconds and using your hands to ensure that all of the sand is removed.

3) Give each washed leaf a good shake in the sink as you go and place it aside, either on an outstretched towel or in another colander designated for clean greens.

4) When the washing is finished, take a look at that glorious pile of dripping leaves! If you're like me and you don't have a salad spinner, take about two kitchen towels and begin patting your lettuce dry.... make sure that you get as much water off of the leaves as possible!

5) Place the dry leaves in a resealable zip-lock bag with a damp paper towel. Drop the zip-lock bag in the crisper drawer of your fridge. If washed and stored properly, they should last for 4 or 5 days!

Enjoy!

Color and Salads

I remember vividly the colors of Spain- the golden yellow cobblestone paths, the vibrant red walls of the tapas bars that I frequented, the chalky gray-white countertops where I'd sip from small glasses of café con leche and slice a fork through those bright yellow wedges of tortilla de patata flecked with caramelized onions.

Paris has its own color scheme- lots of grays throughout the paved streets, creamy white and pastel buildings, dark roofs, bright yellow post offices, and red awnings of brasseries, perhaps with golden letters written elegantly on their windows. Yet one thing I'm grateful for here in my color-seeking ways is the fact that there are splashes of green throughout this city. Sure, I see lots of trees on streets and in these lush parks, but the green I'm most excited to see that that which billows off of giant white plates set on wooden tables....Yes, I'm talking about salad greens.

I think that the French have mastered the art of the salade composée, or, in English, the composed salad. The very base of a composed salad is a pillow-y mass of greens. As much as I love Romaine lettuce, the French salad calls for a collection of greens so soft and gentle-looking a person might be tempted to rest his or her head against the pile and dream of frolicking through French farmland. The item to top the salad is determined by the whims of the chef. I've seen toasts with baked chèvre balancing precariously on the lettuce, draped pieces of prize jambon, little balls of mozzarella and melon, sliced hard-boiled eggs, grilled and curried chicken, you name it! Accompanied by a small basket of hand-sliced baguette, these salads are the epitome of summer to me.

In Paris, one can find these salads at almost any restaurant, bistro, or brasserie. However, I'll give you a tip for the best salad-sighting. Head out to an antique fair around lunchtime and watch as the vendors set up their midday meal. There's nothing more rustic-looking to me than a woman peeling apart layers of sliced ham on a wooden charcuterie board as her son tosses a brilliant pile of multi-colored butter lettuces and her husband mixes the vinegarette in some ancient jar. Normally, on the fold-out table will be a generous wedge of brie and some pain de la campagne as well.

I've been making my own composed salads recently with wedges of tomatoes, cucumbers, eggs, and parsley. I also had quite a nice one with nectarines, mozzarrella, and Parma ham... all tossed with peppery arugula. While I'd like to leave the salad creativity to you, I thought I'd link to this wonderful recipe for a French vinaigrette, courtesy of the amazing David Lebovitz. Make sure you get your hands on a really good Dijon mustard for it!

Bon Appetit!

An Equal Opportunity Chicken Salad

I'm usually not too particular about what I eat (as long as it's fresh!) but there is one thing that I really dislike to see in large (or even medium-sized) quantities in a dish: mayonnaise. Actually, I dislike all condiments in general.

Somehow, I find it really discomforting that I don't know how ketchup and mayonnaise are made. Frankly, I don't want to know- I think that vegetables alone are the perfect additions to a sandwich or burger and that anything else just adds superfluous flavor (well, I think I make an exception for guacamole or home-made hummus).

For this reason, I tried to avoid chicken, potato, and other mayonnaise-filled salads for a long time. I was pretty skeptical, and still am. Yet, when I came across a chicken salad recipe without mayonnaise, and instead with a nice light vinaigrette, I thought I might give it a chance. I'm glad I did.

This salad is really crisp and refreshing for a hot day. I like to eat a bit with some whole wheat toast before I trounce down my hill to face the real world.

Chicken Salad
Adapted from Gourmet

1 large chicken breast (already cooked, but if not then just poach it)
2 celery ribs, chopped into little half-moon pieces
a handful of grapes, washed, dried, and halved
1/4 cup walnuts (you can toast them, I didn't)
1 tbs. chopped shallot
1 tbs olive oil
1 tbs lemon juice
1 tbs vinegar (champagne, red wine, etc.)
salt and pepper to taste

Peel apart the chicken breast into small strips and place in a large bowl. Chop the shallots and drop the pieces in a smaller bowl with the vinegar and lemon juice (so that they macerate a bit). Add the grapes, chopped celery, and walnuts to the large bowl with the chicken. Mix the olive oil in with the vinegar and shallots and taste- you may need to add more oil if it's too acidic. Otherwise just toss the dressing in with the salad and toss again. Enjoy!

Summer

I know I've told some people, but I don't make New Year's resolutions in January. There's something about the fact that I have two more months of winter to brave through and piles of academic reading to approach that makes my soul hibernate for a bit before coming to any new conclusions.

So I wait until the summer to make a list. I know it's the right time to do so when the sun is shining clearly in my face and I've got a (somewhat) blank slate after Spring semester. I also keep my resolutions modest, so that I don't have to defy my biology or mental capacity to undertake them. Cheating the system? You bet.

So here they are:

1) Read some good books

2) Hike some beautiful hills

3) Make more salads


Salads saved me during finals and the days leading up to my move out of the quaint Berkeley apartment that I called home. During this time, my lovely and insightful aunt sent me a brief e-mail entitled "Exams" and wrote one of the most useful sentences I've ever encountered: "Take a walk in the sunshine (or a run) and make a great big salad with all kinds of yummy fresh things and some nuts. Take a deep breath. Smile and enjoy the pleasure of learning."

So I set to work (on the salads, walks, and runs that is). My staple was a salad with radishes (which are oh-so-good and 99 cents a bunch!), celery, lettuce, and cucumbers, with tofu instead of nuts. Then, when it came time to empty out the remaining ingredients that had been hiding in the cupboards of the kitchen, I concocted a salad with quinoa, a can of black-eyed peas, and some frozen green peas.

Aside from academic pursuits and the job hunt, I think this is going to be a good summer- especially if there are salads involved :)

PS- promising a more stream of consciousness post next week. For now- simplicity is the name of the game. Sorry to bore.

Summer Quinoa Salad
This time around, I shelled peas (which is quite relaxing) and blanched them. Otherwise, this recipe is geared towards frozen peas.

1 cup quinoa, rinsed
1 can black eyed peas, drained and rinsed
1 cup frozen peas, thawed
2 tbs chopped parsley
1 tbs. good quality olive oil (I swear by the Spanish stuff)
1 tbs. lemon juice (or juice of 1/2 lemon)
1 scant tbs. chardonnay or white wine vinegar (really any kind is fine here)

Heat the quinoa with 2 cups water over a high flame until the mixture is boiling. Then lower the heat, cover, and cook for 10-15 minutes. The quinoa will be done when the grains have expanded and little curly q's have formed around their edges (you'll know what I mean!) Qunioa cooks pretty quickly, so keep an eye on it. When done, put aside in a bowl to cool.

When the mixture is still warm but not steaming hot, mix in the black eyed and green peas. Then add the parsley, olive oil, lemon, and vinegar, adding salt and pepper to taste. You can eat it like that, but I'd recommend putting it in the fridge for a couple of hours and enjoying it cold- preferably with a beer and a rooftop view.

Bon appetit!

I Could Hardly Wait

My grandfather used to be a chemist. His profession took him around the world- to countries like Germany and Japan. As a result he knows phrases in multiple languages (including "do your feet itch?" in Japanese).

When my brother and I brought our high school calculus and chemistry problems to my grandpa, his eyes would light up with adventure. He'd pull out a fresh sheet of paper and a number two pencil, then he'd work his way through every problem that we threw at him with the precise methodology and thoroughness of a true chemist.

My dad and brother picked up the gene- they both analyze whatever comes their way with some form of the scientific method. They like to fix things that are broken, utilizing the mechanical skills that come so naturally to them.

I, on the other hand, get lost in the process. I have no desire to take something apart and put it back together. Despite the fact that they're equally beautiful, I'm much more passionate about the various constructions of the written word than elaborate drawings of the structures of chemical compounds and organic molecules.

But sometimes I get the desire to experiment... often through literary analysis*, mobiles, or music, but most recently my experiments have taken place in the kitchen. The majority of them turn out pretty lackluster. I comfort myself over steaming plates of mundane or burnt food with pep talks that my mother would give me: "It takes experience- there's a learning curve to everything! Now you know not to add 3 tablespoons of lemon juice to that dish instead of a half teaspoon!"

Today marks a good day though- I decided to make one of my favorite toppings to pizzas- a gremolata. I'm sure that you just elicited a "Huh!?" Basically, there's only one place I know of that graces the surfaces of their pizza with this simple, fresh topping of parsley, lemon zest, and garlic- but I assure you: it makes all the difference. You can put it on pasta with a generous grating of Parmesan or you can toss it in a salad of cooked carrots. I decided to use it as the base for a basic potato salad. As far as I'm concerned, it was a pretty successful experiment.

*One of my most proudest moments was when I decided to dedicate a paper to the claim that Captain Ahab in Moby Dick could be seen as a reincarnation of Buddha. I received the paper back with a C- and the words "Nice Try Sister!"

Simple Potato Salad with Gremolata and Radishes
I used purple potatoes (!!) because they were local and looked good on the shelves of Berkeley Bowl, but please use any type of potato that suits your fancy.

For Gremolata:

1/4 cup chopped italian flat-leaf parsley
1.5-2 tsp. minced garlic (about two medium-sized cloves)
1.5 tsp. lemon zest
2 tbs. olive oil (I used Spanish-style)
1 tsp. lemon juice
salt and pepper to taste

Mix the above ingredients together in a bowl and let sit.

Potato Salad

2-3 potatoes
3-4 radishes, sliced horizontally
1 tbs. cider vinegar (or any other kind will do- whatever you like to dress salads with)

Boil the potatoes in a pot of salted water. Remove when they're easy to pierce with a knife. Then, when they're not too hot to handle, slice the potatoes first in half and then in smaller pieces.

Assembly: Place the radishes and potatoes in a bowl. Then toss with the gremolata and vinegar. Taste to see if you need to add more salt, pepper, or oil.

Enjoy!

An Ode to Spring... and the Avocado

Once upon a time, I attended the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. I say "once upon a time" because I could only survive one Midwestern winter before I knew that I wouldn't be staying there for long. Now, that's not to say that I didn't have an incredible experience at the institution, or meet some of the best friends I've ever had in my life. However, I'd like to attach a scientific explanation for my flight from the mitten state: given empirical evidence, my positivism and energy shrivel up and hibernate for a good five months when exposed to temperatures below 35 degrees Fahrenheit. Believe me, nobody wants that to happen!

Yet, the University doesn't help much to assuage the weather-induced fears of out-of-state students like myself. The school year comes to a close at the end of April, when Spring is just in sight but has not fully enveloped the city. It's still cold, there's still a chance of snow, and the specter of winter still chills each possible breath of air.

Needless to say, when I left the frosty Midwest to come home to California, I was full of pure, unadulterated angst. I wanted to bravely open each door leading outside without the anticipation of the impending chill in the air. I wanted to run in shorts and a T-shirt instead of spandex and a sweatshirt. I wanted warmth. I wanted color. I wanted flowers. I wanted Spring...

...but most of all. I wanted an avocado.




Yes, the golden fruit of California- with its cragged, coal-colored exterior and buttery (and oh-so comforting) green center! It provided a well-needed welcome back to my home state!

And eat those beacons of verdant goodness I did. I'd slather avocado on whole-wheat toast with a sliced tomato and a drizzle of olive oil. I'd sever it from its shell, mash it with some lime, and call it guacamole. I'd even eat it plain, licking off the dark green remnants from my fingers as I smiled to myself in absolute glee. Ah! I don't know what the afterlife brings, but if there are avocado trees there then I know that I'll be happy!

Still, there was one combination including avocados that I didn't anticipate... and boy, am I excited to share it with you! I remember my first encounter with this foreign arrangement- my mom, conscious of my tenderness from the harsh winter, took me out to a new restaurant in the area. We ordered an interesting-looking salad that combined avocado, citrus, and a brilliant gathering of scallions- all lightly accented by a sweet vinaigrette. We daintily tasted each piece, only to find that together, the components merged in the most harmonious way.

So enough chat! The original recipe combined endive, scallions, avocado, and kumquats... but I only had an orange and shallots on hand. So, I tried to create a more accessible version. This salad is an open invitation for improvisation- as long as you combine the avocado, a citrus, and some kind of onion then you're in business. If you're a ravenous college student like myself, then slide the "composed salad" right on top of a bed of greens and toss with the extra dressing.

Citrus Avocado Salad

adapted from Chez Panisse Vegetables

I admit that I'm experimenting around with portions- this is what I used for one person, however feel free to double or triple the ingredients as you see fit!

Salad:

1/2 of an Avocado
1 Orange (try using a Cara Cara orange if you can find one!)
2 tbs chopped parsley
*bed of romaine or soft lettuce (optional)

Dressing:

1 tbs lemon juice
1 tbs orange juice
1/4 of a shallot, finely diced
2 tbs rice vinegar (white wine or champagne vinegar will work fine)
3 tbs extra-virgin olive oil

Cut the rind off of the orange, removing the pith and separating the wedges. If you can, use one segment to generate the tablespoon of orange juice in a separate bowl. Arrange the orange slices on a plate and sprinkle with the parsley.

Combine the lemon juice, orange juice, rice vinegar, and diced shallot in a bowl- allow to macerate for a few minutes as you prepare the rest of the dish.

Cut the avocado in half, removing the pit. Cut lengthwise slices along the avocado, then use a spoon to remove the slices from the shell. Arrange them on the plate with the orange and parsley.

Combine the olive oil with the rest of the dressing. Drizzle as much as you'd like on salad and enjoy!